Sweet Sounds

By DENISE ADAMS

The old, beat-up piano stood silently against the blonde knotted pine board wall. Its keys were yellowed with age, a few slightly tilted from years of banged-out choruses of "Chopsticks." The brass pedals were tarnished, the tips almost golden, and there were numerous nicks and cuts along the length of the mahogany legs.

There were quite a few people in the lodge hall as it was raining outside. Throughout the afternoon, young children seeking asylum from the nasty weather invariably found their way to the old piano, their chubby fingers banging on the keys until an exasperated parent retrieved them, much to the relief of the other people in the room.

Until a young girl sat down in front of the battered keys and her fingers found the magic waiting inside that worn instrument. The notes were true and instantly recognizable - "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" - and in a few moments, a baritone voice started singing the words. For two stanzas, the lodge hall was filled with the joyful sounds of music and singing.

And for those brief moments, we were all smiling, happy to be serenaded by the wonderful symmetry of instrument and voice. People who create music are blessed their entire lives. In the silence of the night, musicians can pick up a guitar and serenade themselves and the stars. They can express their innermost feelings through strings and notes because when you have music in your soul, you're never alone.

Music has always been a part of my life. We grew up listening to my mother sing Broadway songs in her beautiful soprano voice, assuming all mothers could produce such lovely sounds. To this day, I can still hear her singing snippets from the Rodgers and Hammerstein classics that turned all her children and grandchildren into fans of the big-sound musicals.

Although my father couldn't carry a tune if given a bucket, he loved music in his own way. While on a visit to our house, he found a harmonica in the bottom of the boys' toy chest. Turning it over in his hands, he told my sons about the many summer afternoons he spent sitting in a tree, playing tunes and creating his own favorite harmonies.

He stopped talking, cupped his hand over the outside edge of the harmonica, put the other side in his mouth and began to play. I had no idea my father could make a harmonica sound so beautiful, especially as we'd discarded that harmonica as an old-fashioned toy, not worth our time if it couldn't be plugged in.

But with his eyes closed and his lips pressed to that harmonica, my dad coaxed that little throwaway instrument to whine, cry, sing and talk. After listening to their grandfather, my sons all ran to find the forgotten harmonicas in their rooms. As they slid their lips up and down that silver metal ridge, I knew they were realizing how comforting familiar tunes could be.

A few years ago, our middle son asked for an acoustic guitar for his birthday. Not sure if he'd enjoy playing, we found a used guitar, and he was thrilled when he opened that scuffed-up black guitar case. We arranged for lessons, but I still wasn't sure he liked his gift.

Until late one night.

Standing outside his bedroom door before going to bed, I heard guitar chords. My sons was playing that old guitar, strumming the few chords he'd learned, practicing until he got them right. He didn't know it, but he serenaded both my husband and me to sleep that night, and I knew we'd made the right choice for his birthday.

Now whenever I see an old upright piano against a wall in a church hall or in someone's living room, I find myself listening for the echoes in the room. If I listen hard enough, there's always a faint sound close by, a memory of faint music mingling together with voices and laughter from family gatherings.

Those who can play create music are truly fortunate. For the sad times and the happy times, they can express their feelings - not only for themselves but also for those lucky enough to be sitting in the same room on a rainy afternoon.

Denise Adams is a weekly columnist with The Herald-Coaster newspaper in Rosenberg, Texas and can be reached via e-mail at dhadams@herald-coaster.com.